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“I really don’t know what the hell got into me, I’m sorry.”
Luke looked to the ground. He had already apologised to every person he could think of – especially Tom, who had already forgiven him twice.
“Don’t be sorry. No one was hurt.”
The ground was a blur fleeting under his feet, and Luke could feel Tom’s eyes on his head. “Luke. Look at me,” Tom said softly. Luke hesitantly obliged; he knew what was coming. Tom’s expression was empathic but concerned, and for a moment Luke allowed himself to forget everything else while staring into his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
He hadn’t realised that they’d stopped walking. Tom was still staring at him, the dreaded question finally thrown in the air, waiting for an answer.
Fuck. Truthfully speaking, no. He was far from okay. Last night at the bar and Luke’s drinking going overboard to the point where he was – based on what he was told – throwing glassware in the air, dancing with every stranger and keeping his friends’ heart rates up by upredictably throwing himself on the streets - was enough to prove it, to himself, at least. His friends had had to force him to go home after watching his bullshit for a full hour. Sam had been mad at him, rightfully so, and AJ said he had had the most hilarious night of his life.
But Tom, he saw it. Luke was certain of it. Tom knew he didn’t usually drink so much; he would realise something was up. And what had happened before the chaos... It was the only part he remembered vividly. Luke’s eyes diverted to Tom’s lips. He quickly swiched back to the eyes, feeling a stinging pain in his left arm as he shifted in his shirt.
“Yeah, I’m fine now.” Luke answered, trying to avert the topic.
Tom sighed and looked like he wanted to take Luke’s hand or cup his face, but decided to keep his hands to himself. “Luke. In general, in your life. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, there’s nothing going on. You would know if there was, right? We talk about everything,” Luke said, pleading in his tone. It was a lie. They were close, yes, but no two people can truly ever share everything, right? It was true though, that recently...
“You’ve just been so – ugh, I don’t know.” Tom was shaking his head, “lately, there’s been some change about you that I can’t quite place. Call me delusional - I might be wrong, but if there was something,” there was a small pause, “you know you could tell me, right? Talking always helps.”
Luke wanted to tell him, he really did. A part of him craved to show Tom the scars and burns on his arms and legs and pour on him all those thoughts shadowing his head. It was consuming him, making it hard to think – hell, even see straight anymore. He felt fucking hopeless in its grip, like a ship in a storm, being controlled by the waves. Some days he felt great. But some days, when the waves crash on the deck, he lost control, he lost the sense of living.
And he couldn’t speak about this, how could he. Especially not to Tom - he would freak out. Ruining the well-being of his best friend wasn’t on Luke’s agenda. He could get through this on his own.
“I know, Tom. Thanks.”
Luke hugged Tom and let himself just relax in the arms of the taller man, just for once feeling the sense of comfort he craved so, so much. He was holding back tears, as Tom broke the spell by standing back and holding Luke by the forearms. “I love you,” he said. Luke tried not to wince. God, Tom was really squeezing. Luke regret having left the freshest cuts without a bandage. He must have really hated himself in the morning. “I love you too, Tom,” he tried to breahte out without sounding like he was in pain. “I’ve just been stressed, that’s all.”
Tom finally let go and smiled sadly at him. “Me too. But we’ll get though it together.”
They continued walking. These walks of theirs through the parks of London were somewhat of a tradition - a dying one, though, because of their increasingly busy schedules filling up with shows and other shit to be done. But they were, no doubt, very relaxing, which was why they tried to go as consistently as they could. Luke started to feel a little better again as he laughed at Tom’s jokes and conversed with him, in silent agreement, about everything else than last night.
They were approaching the gates of Hyde Park, as Tom seemed to suddenly notice something on Luke’s shirt.
“Luke - is that blood?” He asked, examining a spot of red on Luke’s shirt. “Are you hurt?”
Shit. “What, where?” Luke could feel his pulse rising. He grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and saw a little splotch of blood on the fabric. Oh my god, you can’t be serious. “Oh.” He felt for his skin through the fabric, encountering the cuts he already knew were there. One of them had opened. Damn you, Tom. “I guess I’ve hit myself somewhere or something. Didn’t feel anything, though,” Luke pretended to wonder where the cut had come from. He felt so guilty for having to lie. Tom didn’t deserve it.
Tom stopped them and turned to face his shoulder, examining it more closely. “Well, let me see. I think I have a plaster in my pocket somewhere... Ah, found one.” A plaster appeared from the pocket of Tom’s jeans and he waved it triumphantly at Luke. “Always ready to help, m’lord,” he joked as he lead Luke to sit down on a bench.
Everything happened so hastily. Luke felt like he had no time to react. “Why the hell were you carrying a plaster?”, Luke laughed, uncomfortably, trying to think of ways he could get Tom off his mission, but his mind seemed to have blurred completely and he could feel dread building up in his stomach. As Tom undid a button from his shirt and started to uncover his shoulder, Luke lifted a hand and said “wait.” He had lost his ability to breathe. He felt the colour flee from his face and his hands starting to sweat. “What?” Tom paused and looked at him, not removing his hand from where it was gripping Luke’s shirt. “Um... it’s just,” he couldn’t make up a lie anymore. “You might not want to see.” He didn’t want to lie anymore, so he gave up. “I’m sorry.” He bit his tongue. “I’m so sorry.” It came out as a pathetic whisper.
Tears rose on Luke’s face as he watched Tom’s expression change. He looked confused at first, which then turned into a concerned seriousness upon the realisation. Luke closed his eyes as Tom slowly uncovered his shoulder and forearm, all the way to where the open cut was. There was enough for him to see, Luke knew it. It wasn’t pretty. He could hear Tom’s breath hitch and him whispering “oh my god” as he revealed even more of Luke’s arm and looked under the wrist side of the sleeve as well, only to find more of what he had already found. When he was done, he lifted Luke’s shirt back into place.
Tom looked at Luke, the blond’s eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks and the bloodstain growing on his shirt. He had never seen scars like those on anyone. Not even in films. They were a mixture of cuts and burns, like Luke would’ve stabbed himself and then tried to sew it up by holding a candle up to the cuts, trying to melt the skin back togehter. No. He couldn’t fucking think about it. He wasn’t allowed to freak out. He had to keep it together for Luke.
“Luke,” he managed to whisper. Luke looked devastated as he opened his eyes and held a hand to his mouth, crying. For some reason Tom couldn’t cry. He felt distraught. How could he not have known? How could he not have seen? Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my- He felt the panic rising.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice came out high and small. Why didn’t I know? God, he wanted to strangle the man for lying to him. Straight in the face. Luke just kept looking at him and mouthing the words “I’m sorry”, over and over again.
“Fuck,” Tom hissed. He cared so much. Luke was his best friend. There was something trying to steal him from Tom and he wouldn’t fucking take it. Luke was self-destructive. Had he planned to end it? Could he be doing so bad – what if he had done it? What if they would’ve found him dead – none of them would’ve known anything. No reason why. No warning. Shit. I’m gonna lose it.
“Tom,” Luke whispered and looked at him pathetically. And Tom snapped.
With a raised voice, he started to rant. “Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?” He kept a distance to Luke. “Luke. You’re clearly really unwell, and I’m sorry, I should’ve understood it before, but I didn’t. I’m a shitty fucking friend. But you know what? You’re not allowed to keep it to yourself, to not get help when you know you need it. Do you understand?” Tom caught his breath. “Do you understand how much you mean to us? To me? Your wellbeing is a priority, get it? If you were gone, if you would’ve - I mean...” He looked at the ground and rubbed his face roughly in his hands. “Were you going to... or, did you have a plan? To – to end it, I mean,” his voice turned to a whisper as he looked back at Luke’s face.
Luke’s expression had changed. He stood up and glared at Tom through his tears, shaking his head. “No. No, I never did. I was never fucking going to.”
“And how do you know that? Those kinds of things make you lose control-”
“I was in control!” Luke almost growled. “I wasn’t going to let it go that far. Tom, I know this looks really fucking bad, but trust me, I was getting better. I was trying. Until last night happened. I snapped,” he confessed. “I snapped and the drinking got out of hand.”
“Why did you kiss me, then?” Tom threw. It wasn’t fair, he knew. But he needed to know. They went quiet for a moment before he continued: “was that your mental illness speakng, too? Or was it the kiss that made you snap? Because if it was, I need to know what I did wrong.”
“Tom, no-” Luke was cut off by Tom, who was not done. He needed to get it all out. “Oh, actually, don’t say anything, I already know. You just can’t stand the idea that there’s someone who really, truly loves you and is willing to take care of you, because you feel so undeserving of love. Is that it? And then you lie to me and shut me out because you don’t want to let me care for you? Guess what, I would fucking die for you, Luke. I would wear those scars of yours and I would trade our positions any time. But if you don’t want to accept my help, what am I to fucking do?” Tom was out of breath, finger pointing angrily at Luke. He knew he had already messed up. But he was tired, he was sleep deprived and deeply devastated by what he had just seen, and there’s nothing he could do about it. “Alright, then. Just leave me to live my life, unaccepted, useless, and keep your delusion that you’ll get better by yourself. I really hope you will. But I fucking doubt it. Call me when you’re ready to accept my help.”
Luke looked like he had given up, slouched back onto the bench and gripping his hair. Tom shoved the plaster still is his hand - all warm now from the heat in his palms - into Luke’s face, and walked away.
Luke was trembling. He was holding stray hairs from his head in his hands. Tom’s words had really hit him hard; he felt helpless and weak, sitting alone on a bench in a park in the huge city of London, and no one was there to help him. And it was his fault. Everything was his fault. He had hurt Tom. He couldn’t bear it.
Luke’s vision was blurry once again. He was spacing out, losing his perception of time and his surroundings. He let it happen.
He arrived at Sam’s flat. Sam wouldn’t be home, Luke remembered him saying that he was going to spend the afternoon in some sort of a conference. Using his spare key, Luke entered and found the mattress Sam had laid out for him. He buried his face in a pillow and screamed. He could feel his phone buzzing.
Luke guessed it would be Tom calling, but he couldn’t answer.
Instead he made his way to the stash of drinks he and Sam shared. He opened a bottle of whiskey and downed a quarter. He breathed for a bit and drank another quarter. He was scared. Scared of himself. He didn’t want to die, but then again, there was no other choice, was there?
He found a knife and started incising his skin on the arms and wrists. The pain helped. It was a distraction. Soon there was nothing but him and the pain. It was his friend. He cut deeper and deeper.
He was getting bloodstains on the bottle, on his shirt, on the pillow. He didn’t care. He was feeling dizzy. How much alcohol is needed to kill a person? He couldn’t remember. He opened a second bottle, not even registering what it was.
This is it, I guess. I’m going to die tonight.
Dying didn’t feel too great. He couldn’t form a thought anymore. His slashes with the knife got too feeble to do any damage. He felt sick.
He found himself humming a tune he didn’t recognise. He tried to fixate his vision on one point. Time didn’t exist.
The room was spinning around him and he felt his body slouch against the sofa. He barely registered the sound of footsteps and voices coming closer. Then his vision went black and he heard the knife clanking to the floor. He went limp.
This was the sixth time that Tom called, but Luke still wasn’t anwering his phone. Tom felt guilt rising up in his gut. He had messed up so badly. How could he just leave Luke there all alone like that? He had lost it, too. But he wasn’t allowed to do that, not now. So he decided not to give up and hastily left for Sam’s flat to see if Luke had gone there.
He hadn’t got far though, when he was stopped by a panicked person calling for help. They pointed Tom to a woman on the ground, her skin bruised and skull bleeding. There had been a fight, the person told him, and the victim needed help. Tom couldn’t just walk away. While he was phoning 999, his thoughts went back to Luke. Luke wasn’t in immediate danger like this woman, it could wait.
After thirty minutes or so the situation was over and the woman was carried away by the ambulance, Tom was being thanked by someone, which his mind was barely registering, as he was already on his way toward Sam’s place. It was the longest walk of his life. All the time his mind was racing, thinking about what he would say, how he could apologise to Luke and get him to understand what he meant.
Tom finally arrived and, having been let in to the stairwell by a kind old woman, knocked on the door of Sam’s flat. He waited. There was no answer. He knocked again. Had Luke not come here after all? Where on earth could he have gone? He didn’t have to wait for too long though, because soon enough Sam arrived, surprised to see Tom standing there outside of the door. “Tom? What are you doing here, hasn’t Luke let you in?” Sam said while opening the door.
“I was looking for Luke, but I think he might not even be here”, Tom said, given up, but followed Sam in anyway.
“Well, how was your-”, Sam started but he seemed to be cut off by something he saw in the living room. “Oh my god.” Sam choked on his words and lauched into the room.
Tom allowed himself a moment of confusion before following Sam to see what he had seen.
There was Luke, propped against the sofa, neck resting unnaturally at the cushions, eyes closed. His arms were full of red, gory cuts filling the skin. Even his sleeves had suffered some violence. There was a blooded knife laying on the floor under his limp arm and two empty bottles, one of whiskey and the other of vodka, carelessly thrown on the floor.
No.
Tom’s eyes had widened, stinging with tears filling them up. His whole body had started trembling. Dread was filling his insides. He felt physically sick.
No. This is not real.
Tom couldn’t think. He managed to feel for his phone and dial the number 999, feeling it familiar from the earlier incident.
It can’t be. No.
He could hear Sam sobbing. He was holding Luke and trying to look for signs of life. Tom made his way closer as a responder picked up and started asking questions. His voice was trembling when he answered them. He couldn’t look at Luke anymore. He pressed his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, hot tears drenching the other man’s shirt.
This is my fault.
It was all he could think of. All he could think of, when the medical people arrived and took them to the ambulance, all he could think of when he tried to explain the situation to Sam on their way to the hospital, all he could think of when the medics suddenly lost Luke’s heart rate and had to recucitate him in the ambulance.
If he dies, it’s my fault.
Tom thought about Luke, about his sunny smile, good jokes and bubbly laugh. He thought about the years they had spent together and the times they had gone through. As the heart monitor started beeping again, he thought about the kiss, and how Luke had confessed his love to him, drunkenly, just last night. He thought about how he had yelled Luke, about the hurtful things he had said.
I can’t lose him. I would lose myself.
Sam was calling AJ. The devastated tone of his voice made Tom’s heart break. Luke was so valuable to them, too. They couldn’t lose him, not now. Not ever.
They arrived at the hospital and Tom was left with Sam in the waiting room. They stayed there, comforting each other for a time that felt too long, when a serious-looking nurse arrived to tell them the news. Luke had suffered a severe alcohol poisoning along with some blood loss and dehydration. He did not survive. The condition would’ve been treatable but his heart gave out before the doctors got that far. The time of death was 20.09.
The time of death was 20.09.
Time of death.
Death...
There was a ringing in Tom’s ears. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see. He fell back and slammed himself into the wall.
They went to see him. To see Luke. The last time.
Dead. Lifeless. His face was pale, skin cold and arms covered in bandages.
No.
Tom buried his face in Luke’s chest. Breathed in his scent. Luke was there. He couldn’t let go.
Tom was walking along a path in Hyde Park. Luke walked by his side. At least so he believed. And so he would continue to believe. Tom told him stories about his childhood town, stories which Luke had already heard a million times before.
Tom bathed in Luke’s warm laugh, watched his beautiful face and held his soft hand. All the scars were gone, all the sadness from his face had disappeared. They had transferred themselves to Tom. And Tom was happy that he had finally been able to free Luke from those burdens, to carry them for him. Luke stroked his arm and traced the stinging lines under his shirt. He wasn’t afraid of them, it was all too familiar to him. Luke understood. He was the only one who understood.
Their laughs echoed in Tom’s mind as they walked along, gradually speeding up into a running pace. Luke was making Tom try to catch him. Tom followed along, letting his eyes enjoy the sight of Luke’s hair flowing in the air and his smile as he grinned at Tom.
Tom was suddenly stopped by a gate slamming into is abdomen, his lungs emptying and a sharp pain filling him. He didn’t care, though, as he watched Luke’s figure keep on running into the distance and out of sight. It was all he needed.